


end-less, bottom-less, boundary-less

by Maiden_of_the_Moon



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: And also of Thirteen, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Sleepy Cuddles, mentions of previous companions - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-11 20:14:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20159437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maiden_of_the_Moon/pseuds/Maiden_of_the_Moon
Summary: “…I’m a woman, now.”Rose, bleary, cracks open a sleep-crusted eye.“Mmm’kay,” she yawns, far less awake than her dream-haunted husband, “Right. D’you wanna go by Mama or Mum, then?”





	end-less, bottom-less, boundary-less

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I didn't own Doctor Who back in 2012, and I certainly don't own it now.
> 
> **Author's Note:** Originally, I wanted to tie this drabble to a fic I wrote way-back-when called [Bees](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/8442325/1/Bees), but then I figured keeping TenToo and Rose's babies vague would allow people to insert their own headcanons. And I'm cool with that, as well. 
> 
> Title is taken from the Leylah Attar quote: “We have an infinite capacity to love, but when you wrap up your love and give it to someone, they expect all of it. And that’s what you think too—that you’re giving them everything you’ve got. You really do. Until you realize that love is end-less, bottom-less, boundary-less. The more you give, the more gushes out. It spills over, refusing to be contained in neat little parcels, swelling like a river after a flash flood. And in the end, it doesn’t matter which part was whose, because in the end it’s all one, like streams merging into the ocean.”
> 
> I wrote, edited, and posted this all in the same evening. So. Yeah. That's the only real warning, here.

“…I’m a woman, now.” 

Rose, bleary, cracks open a sleep-crusted eye. The Doctor is lying beside her, studying the plasterwork of the ceiling in the dark. There are constellations in its lines. And dust, probably. And memories. And holes from decorative light fixtures, and an old baby mobile. 

Lethargic, Rose nestles herself more comfortably into her husband’s side. 

“Mmm’kay,” she yawns, far less awake than her dream-haunted husband, “Right. D’you wanna go by Mama or Mum, then?” 

“—what?” The pinch between the Doctor’s brows changes in shape, then insinuation, as he turns his gaze upon Rose. “Wait. Aren’t you already Mum?”

“I’ll be Cooler Mum,” she mumbles, contended, smoothing a warm hand over his chest. There is a smile tugging on the edges of her voice, though the Doctor can’t quite see it from this angle. 

He appreciates it all the same. 

“’Course you will,” he chuckles. “Sounds wizard.” 

The analog clock on the dresser blinks _5:13 am_. Together, they curl up in the quiet for a time, watching as the indigo dawn flushes pink on the opposite wall. It’s early October, and cold. Rose’s palm never strays far from her husband’s heart. 

“…you know,” she whispers, “you don’t need to tell me.” 

The Doctor uses a nod to tuck his nose into her hair. It smells of gardenias and ozone, and one of the strands is gray. That strand is his favorite. 

“I know,” he rasps. “But… I also know that you’d want to know. Since you love him. Well. Her.”

And she does. Of course she does. She always will. In the same way that the Doctor will always love Sarah Jane, or Charley, or Reinette, or Joan, or any of the bright and shining others whose narratives added meaning to his chapters, who helped to make his story into the masterpiece that it became. 

He is thinking of happily-ever-afters when Rose kisses his throat. Just once, like punctuation. 

“I love you, Doctor,” she breathes, soft in the freshly-gold morning. 

The Doctor knows that, too. He beams.

“And I love you, Cooler Mum.”


End file.
